


Footprints of Friendship

by Jess_B_Fossil



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Balthus just trying to pay back a debt, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Happy Ending, Male-Female Friendship, Mentions of Balthus' Gambling, Post-Canon, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29412000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_B_Fossil/pseuds/Jess_B_Fossil
Summary: He’d remember the House of Ordelia his entire life, and he means to make good on his promise. Years later, he doesn’t expect to return to Garreg Mach. And Balthus definitely doesn’t expect to run into their daughter there. Things given by fate or divine intervention are always tricky, but-- Well, Balthus knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Footprints of Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> This is the piece that I wrote for Solaris: A Balthus zine! It's meant to be open-ended on whether it's shipping or not-- that's for you to decide! I had a lot of fun writing two characters that I've never really given a chance to. Thank you, Solaris, for including me in this wonderful project!

Naturally, this would be his end. 

Balthus doesn’t believe in luck, which is silly because his number one hobby is gambling away everything he’s got. It’s a longtime debate; does he gamble because he thinks that he can win, or does he gamble because it’s the only thing he has control over? 

Losing is the one thing that he’s consistently good at. 

“Damn bounty hunters,” he grouses, staggering along a ridge not far from the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Mountains rise high around him and there’s enough cover to keep just barely hidden. He thinks. He hopes as he pauses to risk a glance at his side. 

It’s a neat gash, the edges sliced clean with a well-sharpened sword. These bounty hunters are mercenaries, then, not bandits. Balthus curses lowly as he pokes at it. It’s not good, even if it’s not terrible; wounds that need stitches are always a problem, even if the wound itself isn’t that bad. The problem comes later with infection. 

Balthus pushes himself; he needs to get out of here sooner than later. His debtors are getting desperate enough to hire a better sword, the kind that isn’t likely to give up so easily. They’ll follow until his trail runs cold. Balthus has never been good at keeping a low profile. Or silently stalking through the brush like a quiet animal. 

Or being quiet in general. 

Balthus keeps a half-way decent pace, and his dragging steps don’t crunch through the underbrush as loudly as he normally manages. As far as he can tell, the bounty hunters aren’t hot on his heels, so perhaps he’s got more of a leg up than originally thought. 

The bleeding of his cut is more annoying than he’d like to admit, and it’s hard to keep up a solid escape when he’s too busy keeping his spare shirt pressed against it. 

And then, he starts to tire. Balthus isn’t concerned, he’s dealt with fatigue before. He’s roamed the eastern side of Fodlan on foot for years. The weary ache that settles into your bones after a long day walking? It’s like an old friend to him, one that he welcomes every night because it helps him sleep in unfamiliar places. 

Weariness turns into lethargy, though, and that’s when Balthus starts to worry. His shirt is soaked through. He’s light-headed and barely standing, half-conscious. Balthus knows that it’s the blood loss. 

He can see the edges of an estate in the distance, a walled-off manor with several rooftops peeking over white sandstone. But, his vision is blurry and he might be imagining it. Balthus has been down this road before, barely clinging on to the point where delirium washes over. 

Balthus also knows that he can’t risk passing out in the middle of the foothills.

A half-hour later, he finds himself at the open gate of a very real keep. It’s larger than it’d seemed from far away. Merchants and visitors bustle in and out of the entrance. He’s lucky; even if bounty hunters follow him here, it’d be hard to find him in the crowd. 

Balthus considers praying to the Goddess, but he’s not a praying kind of man. 

He slips by the gatekeeper easily enough. Balthus might be bleeding out from his side, but the blood hasn’t soaked through the leather of his jerkin. Small blessings. He’s just another face in the crowd, overlooked by everyone around him. He doesn’t know whose estate this is and he doesn’t care. He pushes on, asking for an Inn. 

Balthus needs rest, but he thinks of gambling instead. 

He makes it as far as the stable, which isn’t bad considering. Balthus heaves, leaning over a bale of hay. Sweat drips down his face and he grimaces. Okay, so things are bleaker than originally thought and far worse off than he expects.

“A moment of rest, big guy,” he murmurs, sitting down. He wipes at his wet brow with his forearm. “Just to gather yourself, then you can get some food.”

Dinner sounds nice, Balthus thinks. A hearty stew with meat and potatoes. A mug of watered-down ale. He’s not in the mood for dice, so maybe a few rounds of a card game alternatively, and his half-empty coin purse. 

He pats at his waist to make sure it’s still there. It is, and the card game will be with a mostly-empty purse instead. 

“Just a minute,” Balthus says again, tiredness tugging at his eyelids. “Close ‘em just for a sec and you’ll be right as rain.”

His eyes slip closed and Balthus passes out. 

#

Balthus wakes up in a bed, which definitely shouldn’t be the case.

His first thought is that he’s finally kicked the bucket because the sheets are nicer than anything he’s slept on in years. Nicer than back home, and his father’s estate isn’t exactly a slouch. Balthus jerks upright and immediately regrets it. Pain lances through his side, hot and burning. He kind of wants to vomit, but he holds it in. 

So, not dead, which leaves another option: the bounty hunters had caught him and taken him to a swanky inn because they have expensive tastes that go along with their expensive rates of hire.

The second option doesn’t seem very likely. 

“Oh my, don’t sit up so suddenly.” When Balthus turns to look, he’s met with the face of a kind-hearted looking woman whose mouth is tugged into a concerned little frown. He’s never seen her before. Before he can say anything, she pushes him back against the pillows, deceptively strong for her slight stature.

Balthus knows that this woman probably isn’t the type that you should fight with, so he does as she says. 

“There, that’s better,” she says, grabbing a glass of water from the bedside table. Balthus drains the entire cup like a man who’s spent a week in the desert. The woman watches in amusement. 

“Where…” Balthus stops when his word comes out like a strained choke. 

“Ordelia Manor,” the woman says simply. “You were found by a servant. I had you brought here.”

“You,” Balthus says, confused. 

“Yes, I.” 

“And you are?” 

“Lady Ordelia.” She says it simply as if she weren’t a high-ranking woman of noble stature. Balthus is the son of a minor lord and he remembers Count Ordelia, but he’d never met his wife. It figures he’d stumble into a familiar household without even trying. Maybe luck is on his side.

Lady Ordelia looks amused. “I can’t have random men passed out in my stables,” she says to him. “Especially when they’re bleeding out everywhere.” She pauses. “We’ve stitched you up and let you rest. We’ll give you a meal and let you sleep some more, but I’m afraid that you’ll have to leave by sunrise.”

“My Lady, I--”

“Nonsense,” Lady Ordelia says with a wave. “What kind of household would we be if we left a man to die? Were it that I could, I would let you stay longer, but it isn’t safe. For you or my family.” She sees the hope die quickly in his eyes. There’d been a wish that perhaps he could lay low in their manor, but she’s immediately quashed that plan.

“Adrestia has eyes and ears everywhere, and I’m but a prisoner in my own home. I’ve put you in danger, I would think.”

Balthus is silent for a long moment, his head pounding with a raging headache. But, his side isn’t leaking blood anymore. It barely burns, likely healed over properly, leaving only a pink scar. He knows the difference between a stitched wound and the leftover burn of white magic. 

She’s risked a lot by helping him, so Balthus won’t worsen her odds by sticking around.

The Lady Ordelia eventually leaves him, patting his hand gently before disappearing from the room. And maybe Balthus is a little dumb for thinking that the kind woman reminds him of his mother, but it’s nice comfort in a tense moment. He’s been on the run for so long, that he can’t remember the last time that he’s been able to just close his eyes and truly rest. 

The next morning, Balthus is awoken before dawn by the Lady herself. He’s given a fresh set of clothing and a brush for his hair. 

“They might be tight; my husband is slighter than you are,” is all she says. They might not fit at all. Count Ordelia wasn’t just slighter, he was a lot shorter as well. Still, a clean shirt is a clean shirt, and while it’s tight, it’ll work long enough until he can buy something else.

Balthus stands and stretches, his muscles protesting. But there’s only a ghost of pain and he grins wildly as a result. When he’s done freshening up, he’s led to the back of the manor through the servant’s hallways. They come out in the stables where he’d passed out initially. 

The Lady passes a satchel to him, no doubt filled with things that she shouldn’t be gifting him. 

Balthus pauses at the exit, before turning around. 

“Lord Albrecht?” Lady Ordelia asks quietly. It’s the first time she’s mentioned his name and Balthus winces at the title. Of course, she’s recognized him, she would have come with her husband during visits. Adrestian women are quiet and hide in parlors with their embroidery, so while he’d never seen her, she might’ve glimpsed him from afar.

“Y’know, despite all that’s been said about me, I’m an honorable man. I’ll repay your kindness one day,” Balthus says. 

Lady Ordelia smiles at him, her hands clasped in front of her skirt demurely. Balthus knows that she’s anything but. “None of that,” she says. “A good deed is only a good deed. It requires no payment.”

Balthus opens his mouth to say something but stops himself. Instead, he smiles at her and lifts his hand into a little wave before turning around to leave. He’d remember the House of Ordelia his entire life, and he means to make good on his promise. 

Years later, he doesn’t expect to return to Garreg Mach. And Balthus definitely doesn’t expect to run into their daughter there. Things given by fate or divine intervention are always tricky, but-- 

Well, Balthus knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

#

Balthus doesn’t always play his cards right, but in his defense, Lysithea von Ordelia is a slippery little devil. It’s nearly impossible to keep an eye on the girl, though, and Balthus feels like he needs to tie bells on her toes. 

Lysithea definitely won’t allow that.

He’s figured out that she can usually be found in one of two places: the kitchen, stuffing her mouth with sweets and treats that she says she doesn’t, or the library, stuffing her brain full of facts instead. Balthus doesn’t get either of those things, but in the grand scheme of it all, he doesn’t try to.

It’s later in the evening, so Balthus takes his chances on the library. Some students will already be heading off to bed, but Lysithea is the late-night, burning the midnight oil sort. She probably likes the low light of the lamps, and being surrounded by the smell of paper and books. 

Balthus thinks the library smells musty, kind of like that grey mold that’s not really dangerous, but impossible to get rid of.

His gamble pays off. He peeks around the doorframe, only to find Lysithea standing in the stacks, face contorted in annoyance as she looks high above her. 

_“Ugh._ How dumb,” she says, arms crossed over her chest. “Ridiculous. And putting the ladder all the way over there?” Lysithea lets out a grunt in frustration. 

Balthus watches as she jumps high, trying to reach the book she’s aiming for. She’s probably about a foot too short, based on where her gaze is trained. 

“Hey there, Little Lady,” Balthus finally says, leaning against a bookshelf a few paces from her. “Need help?”

Lysithea huffs, opting not to even glance at him. “Of course not. I can handle this myself.”

Balthus smiles wide, watching her fruitless efforts as she tries to jump for the book again. It’s a constantly entertaining thing to watch Lysithea prove herself, even when there’s nothing to prove. 

“And the ladder?” Balthus asks, his gaze slipping over to it. 

“It’s annoying to move,” Lysithea says, but Balthus knows that she means _hard_ to move. Lysithea is the spunkiest girl that he knows, but she’s short and small, and sometimes that works against her advantage. Like, when it comes to reaching books high in the stacks, or navigating something large on wheels.

Balthus steps forward, towering over her. He tries not the laugh at her little huff, cheeks puffed slightly as she sets her fists on her hips. “Which book?” 

“I don’t need help,” Lysithea says.

“I don’t think that you do,” Balthus says to her truthfully. “I know you’ll eventually get it. I’m offering my help to hurry you along. Kindness of the heart and all that.”

At first, Lysithea doesn’t say anything, shooting him an annoyed look as she stares him down. But then she rolls her eyes. “The Arithmetic Textbook. The green binding with the gold lettering.” 

“Eh? _Math?_ ”

Lysithea huffs. “Yes, math,” she says. “It’s normal for an adult to like math!”

“I didn’t say--”

“I’m not a child!”

“I definitely didn’t say--”

“Just grab the book already, would you?” She crosses her arms and taps her foot, lip tugged into an annoyed scowl.

“Impatient little lady,” Balthus says, grabbing the text and handing it to her. “For the record, I’m quite good at math. Like it, even.”

“Right,” Lysithea says, clearly unbelieving. She’s already got the book open, her eyes ghosting the table of contents.

“How else would I tally up my debts?”

Lysithea pauses at that, flashing him a glance. “Debts,” she says. “Like the one that you owe my parents?”

They’ve talked about this a few times. He and Lysithea don’t have a lot in common, but she’s very curious about how her mother helped him out of a pickle, and she’s made more than the occasional inquiry. 

Balthus doesn’t mind. The more that she understands, the more she’ll accept his help. In the grand scheme of things, grabbing books and helping her around the monastery doesn’t do shit to dent the debt that he owes, but it’s something. 

“Not all debts are the same,” Balthus finally says. “I usually run from them. Not the case for your parents; I still owe ‘em.”

Lysithea is the kind of girl who tries a little too hard to act grown-up, but sometimes, when she drops the act and lets her serious side show, she seems more like an adult than anyone else around them. Like right now. She’s looking at him with an austere, calculating gaze. 

But it’s more thoughtful than accusatory. That bodes well. 

The look’s gone as soon as it comes, and she snaps the book shut with a clap. “I won’t thank you for your unwarranted help,” she says, in true Lysithea fashion. 

“No thanks necessary,” Balthus says. “Just doing my job.”

“Oh? Your job?”

“Yeah.” Balthus shoots her a toothy grin. “Helping little ladies who are too proud to ask for it themselves.”

Lysithea’s cheeks puff up and she lets out an aggravating grunt, before pushing past him and out of the library. Balthus watches her go, lips still tugged to the side, this time a more genuine smile than a goofy show for her sake. This exchange had gone better than he’d thought. 

#

It happens in a split-second. 

At first, Lysithea is right there within eyesight. Her fingers crackle with a dark ring of Miasma, her eyes trained on a soldier before her. Balthus doesn’t need to worry about her; Lysithea isn’t just plucky anymore, she’s come into her own and their enemies know to fear her rather than face her. 

Case in point, the Adrestian soldier whose eyes widen at the sight of her before turning to run. Lysithea lets him get a few feet before striking him down with a crack, a grim smirk gracing her lips. 

Barbaric, in her own little way, having found a love for tearing their enemies down. They’re lucky she’s on their side, Balthus thinks because even he knows his match when he sees it. 

Balthus turns away to strike at the halberdier coming for him, his silver gauntlets flinging sparks as his knuckles glance off the steel speartip. It doesn’t take much to grapple the enemy to the ground and end him. 

When he looks back up, Lysithea is gone and Balthus curses. He doesn’t keep a constant eye on her because she can’t take care of herself, it’s the opposite. Her prowess in magic leads her to take risks on the field, and while she always comes out on top, all it takes is just once. 

Just one time she meets her match, and it’s over. Balthus wipes his sweaty brow on his shirt sleeve and meets the calm gaze of Byleth. It was the Professor's idea to pair everyone in groups of two, and Balthus has babysat Lysithea on the field for the near-half year since they all reunited. 

“She’s disappeared,” Balthus yells over the din of fighting. “I need to find her!”

Byleth nods and jumps back into the fray, the Sword the Creator whipping wildly around her head. Balthus turns to run in the opposite direction, scanning the field. No dice; luck isn’t in his favor. He pushes on, cutting through the enemy ranks as he sweeps east, eyes peeled to catch sight of Lysithea’s silver hair. 

Finally, there’s a flash of powdery white fur, trailed by purple fabric. Lysithea twirls around a wyvern rider, Luna sparking along her knuckles before grazing along the belly of the beast. The rider falls and she turns to find Balthus, eyes widening at something behind him. 

“Down!” she yells, her hand flinging out. Balthus immediately drops, cheek hitting the ground as his bulk sinks like a stone. 

The air around her fills with a purple haze and the atmosphere around them suddenly feels heavy. The fog rolls over him and Balthus turns to watch as it all but swallows up an archer ten paces away, bow aimed directly at his chest. There’s nothing left afterward, the space empty, not a trace of the enemy soldier once there. Disintegrated.

Balthus swallows and turns back to Lysithea. “Good thing I’ve never pissed you off, yeah? Luck’s on my side this time.”

“Luck,” Lysithea grunts with a little snort before helping him up. “Right. I’m just glad it worked because that’s the first time I’ve used Hades. Up until now, I’ve only read about it.”

His mouth falls open and maybe an active battlefield isn’t the best place for him to reel back on her words, but he can’t help asking, “And if it _hadn’t?”_

Lysithea shrugs. But then her lips tug into a terse frown like she’s annoyed that he dare question her. “As you said, luck’s on our side. Now, let’s get back out there before I use it on you.”

Balthus doesn’t need to be told twice.

#

So far, he’s been able to avoid dealings with Anna, a true feat of its own. Anna’s got something that everyone wants whether they know it or not. Balthus isn’t one for luxury-- that’s more Yuri’s style-- and he’s been successful in just going with the flow. 

Until now. 

Balthus is at the stand where she hawks her contraband, his arms crossed over his chest as he considers it. And Anna. She stares back, lips twisted into a smirk as she taps a finger against her lip. 

“One wonders what brings you here, big guy,” she finally says, taking a step forward and leaning against the pole of the awning. 

Balthus thinks back to Lysithea stomping around the Monastery kitchen, red-faced and angry, throwing open pantry doors and tossing drawers everywhere. “I just wanted to make some cookies,” she groused, letting out an aggravated groan. “You want to help, Balthus? Then go sniff some out! Surely you’ve got some underground resources.”

And so, he finds himself here.

“Sugar,” Balthus tells Anna. Then, he pulls out a little note with hastily written words. “The light brown kind. Whatever that means. I’m just the messenger.”

“I’ve got white and dark brown sugar,” Anna says. 

“I told you what I need.” Balthus tucks the note back into his pocket. “And I know how you work.” Anna’s mouth twists slightly at that, prompting Balthus to raise an eyebrow. “So, what’s the bargain?” 

“Your muscles,” Anna says, making a face when Bathus turns to walk away. “No, not like-- _not like that.”_ Anna huffs, mildly annoyed. “I’ve got a shipment to pick up and after the last catastrophe of sneaking my goods in here, I think that your brawn can be of use.”

Everyone knows that Anna’s last shipment was lost to bandits, but it’s mostly her fault for trying to smuggle in high-quality liquor. The Professor hadn’t felt one modicum of remorse for her, though everyone else felt the loss deep in their bones.

There’s little they enjoy being knee-deep in war, and a good drink with dinner is a small pleasure. 

But, Balthus isn’t doing this for the goods, he’s doing this for a little lady who just might burn Garreg Mach down if she doesn’t get to bake her cookies. Lysithea scares Balthus more than Anna ever will, so, it’s a small price to pay for the safety of them all. 

“So, my brawn for light brown sugar,” Balthus says, assessing the deal. 

“I said that I had white and dark brown,” Anna says, driving a hard bargain. 

Balthus knows what she said, his ears are broken. Usually. “I’ll lend you my help for the rest of the month.”

Anna rubs at her chin, considering this, but Balthus knows that he has the deal in the bag. “Right then,” she says, “light brown sugar for four rounds of protecting my cart.” 

Balthus hopes that he isn’t making a mistake when he takes her hand for a shake. 

“What’s this?” Lysithea says a half-hour later, peeking into the sack he’s dropped onto the kitchen counter. She hums, seeing the sugar, and looks at Balthus. “You were gone for longer than expected.”

“Anna likes to swindle,” Balthus says.

“So, no different than you,” Lysithea says with a sly smile, her eyes flashing with amusement. His friend knows him well. “What’d you promise her?”

“She hired me to help protect her cargo.”

At that, Lysithea laughs. “Does she know that you tend to fall asleep in wagons?” 

“No,” Balthus says, but then he grins right back at her. “But she will soon enough.”

#

“It’s hard to believe that it’s over.” 

Balthus and Lysithea are sitting astride a horse each, a veritable caravan ready to go behind them. Lysithea worries her lip between her teeth and Balthus mulls over her words. The war’s been over for years, but he’s got an inkling that this is more about her family and their political status; they've relinquished their blood claim and are now, free people. 

“I don’t know if this’ll make you feel any better, but it’s not actually over,” he says. And then he pauses, letting out a sigh. “It probably won’t ever be.”

Lysithea finally meets his gaze. She’s still a short little thing, but she looks like she’s aged ten years in only five, tired and beat. They’ve remained friends the whole while, but letters and memos don’t really show the toll that post-war reconstruction can take on a person. 

“Do you think we’ll like Kupala?” she asks. 

“It’s nice,” Balthus says. “Weather’s nice, the people are nice. There’s Marianne nearby as well, so you can write to her. I think your family will fit right in.” Then Balthus smiles slyly. “We make our armor and weaponry out of precious metals, so that’s a little nifty, eh?”

Lysithea rolls her eyes. “I’d rather a good slice of cake.”

“There are pastries,” Balthus says with a chuckle. 

She falls quiet for a long moment, looking out at the lands her family used to hold. “I wonder if it’s a mistake to do this,” she says, a low murmur. “But I’m just so tired.”

Balthus knows that Lysithea likely doesn’t have long left and he tries not to dwell on it. 

“Then it’s the perfect place. You’ll never have to do anything ever again if you don’t want to. Your family’s got enough left to manage, and my brother still offers help as well.”

“He’s already done so much. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Lysithea has grown a lot, Balthus realizes. Even though she’s still got that spark, it’s been tempered and refined into that of a rather dignified young lady. 

“Don’t think so much about it,” Balthus finally says. “Leave it to luck. That’s what I do and look at where I am.”

Lysithea gives him a sidelong glance through narrowed eyes. “That luck’s left you facedown in a stable, I’ve heard.”

Balthus laughs, loud and full, prompting the foot soldiers around them to stare. It’ll be nice, he thinks, to finally settle down and rejoin his mother. He’s missed her. And Lysithea’s family deserves a break too, after the horrors beset upon them by the Empire. And the things she’d endured in her youth.

Lysithea has more than earned the right to retire to a place where she can pass on in peace. 

“You know, your debt has been paid about ten times over,” Lysithea says after a moment. “You don’t have to come with us.”

“My mother’s there,” Balthus says simply, with a shrug. “And no, it’s not been paid. I can never--”

“Balthus, it’s been paid,” Lysithea says. “You’ve helped me over the years, you’ve helped my family and even now, you’re taking us to a place where we won’t have to worry. And it’s not just me, it’s everyone around us. You’ve been selfless time and time again. It’s time to let someone take care of _you.”_

He doesn’t really know what to say to that and judging by the smirk on Lysithea’s face, she’s well aware that she’s caught him by surprise.

“So, friend, what will you do in retirement?” Lysithea asks.

Balthus doesn’t think he’ll ever be retired; he’s still got several bounties on his back. But, if anything, he’s a creature of habit. 

“I don’t know, but let’s let Lady Luck decide, yeah?”

**Author's Note:**

> Have questions? A burning need for answers? Have a story idea? Just want to talk? Don't forget to check out my [Tumblr](https://missmarquin.tumblr.com/), and drop an ask! 
> 
> Also, follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/JB_Foss)


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